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of leaves and muddy paw prints littered the foyer floor.
    “I see you’ve been helping Miss Edna in the garden. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. The floor can wait.”
    Ten minutes later Whiskey was stretched on his bed gnawing on a rawhide bone. Liv turned out the light, crawled into the bed, and fell into an exhausted sleep.
    It seemed like she’d hardly closed her eyes before her alarm went off. She groped for it in the dark, slapped at it, but it kept ringing. Then she realized it wasn’t her alarm clock but her cell phone.
    She sat up and peered at the clock. “Five o’clock? This better be important.”
    She turned on the lamp and pressed send. “Hello?” she croaked.
    “Liv, it’s Ted. We have a problem.”
    She was already out of bed and pulling her bureau drawer open with one hand.
    “I’m at Waterbury’s farm. I think you’d better get out here right away.”
    “I’m on it. Is everyone okay?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “What do you mean? Joss? Amanda? One of the kids? Fire? Ted, talk to me.”
    “Just get over here. Drive carefully.” He hung up.
    Liv pushed her feet into sneakers and grabbed her new flannel jacket. Whiskey yawned, stretched, and settled back to sleep.
    “You lucky dog,” she whispered and tiptoed out of the room.
    It was barely light outside and the grass was wet with dew. She drove as quickly as she could, the windshield wipers swiping out an arc of visibility in the condensation.
    Lights were on in the farm store when Liv pulled into the parking lot. No flames, no ambulances. A burglary? She prayed she wouldn’t walk in to a trashed store and broken cash register.
    Ted met her at the door. “Bill is on his way,” he said as he pushed her through the empty and—as far as she could tell—intact store. “At a snail’s pace. I thought you should know what’s happened before…” He trailed off as they reached the door to the antique cider press exhibit.
    Joss stood with his back to them, leaning over the 1880s antique press. He turned as they entered, and Liv saw what he’d been looking at.
    A man was stuffed into the barrel. His arms and legs hung over the sides and his middle was pinioned by the round cast-iron apple press. A pink scarf was tied over hiseyes and a shiny red apple was stuffed into his mouth. He was still wearing his clown suit and white face makeup.
    At first Liv thought it was a gruesome joke, but one look at Ted and Joss and she knew this was for real. Mr. Zoldosky had juggled his last scarf.
    She heard a car door slam and hoped to heaven it was the police.
    Joss lifted his head, then looked at Ted. “That’s Bill.”
    “Most likely.”
    “I have to know.”
    “Then be quick about it.”
    Joss knelt down and reached toward the body.
    Liv opened her mouth and tried to say,
Don’t touch anything
, but nothing came out.
    Joss yanked the apple out of the mouth and dropped it to the ground. The mouth gaped open, like a silent scream, and Liv’s stomach turned.
    Joss didn’t seem to notice. He snatched the blindfold away and scrubbed it across the man’s face, revealing a smear of skin and a streak of blood. A gurgling sound erupted from Joss, and he fell to his knees.
    “What is it?” Liv asked just as Bill Gunnison hobbled through the door.
    “Jesus H. Get away from the body. Don’t you people watch television?” Clutching his back, Bill hurried closer, peered at the dead man. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. He stepped closer and bent stiffly over the body. He looked back at Joss. “Is that? It couldn’t be…”
    “Well, it is,” Ted said, sounding as gruff as Liv had ever heard him.
    “Damn and damnation. Still, you shouldn’t have touched him.”
    Joss pushed himself to his feet with Ted’s help. “I know, but I had to know.”
    “Know what?” Liv asked, exasperated, nauseated, and beginning to panic.
    Joss made a strange hysterical laugh. His voice cracked, and he covered his face with his hands.
    Ted squeezed his